


Operation Hell Spawn

by milaru



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley are Warlock Dowling's Parents, Gen, M/M, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milaru/pseuds/milaru
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley adopt Warlock after the Apocalypse.
Relationships: Anathema Device & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Comments: 28
Kudos: 190





	1. Operation Hell Spawn is Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alexanyhammyham14](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanyhammyham14/gifts).



> Hi everyone! This is a gift for my friend alexanyhammyham14 because he deserves it.   
> This really isn't beta'd, so Please Read With That In Mind.   
> If I messed anything up, or didn't get something right, please let me know, and I will fix it immediately.   
> All right, enjoy!

As Adam and the Them drove away from Shadwell, Madame Tracey, Aziraphale and Crowley, the air seemed to clear. For one, beautiful, perfect moment, everything seemed to be exactly where it should be.   
And that was when Aziraphale looked over to where Crowley was fiddling with his phone.   
“Dear Lord, do you ever cease with that infernal device?”  
Crowley made eye contact with Aziraphale as he pressed a green call button on his phone and levelled it to his ear.   
It rang for a minute before the recipient picked up.  
“Hello, is this Mrs Cawldwell?” Crowley asked.   
Aziraphale realised that Crowley had slipped into his Nanny Ashtoreth voice.  
There was apparently an affirmative from the other end of the line because Crowley continued: “Yes, this is Ms Ashtoreth. I’m coming to collect Warlock.” Another pause. “I understand. I’ll be by on Tuesday during work hours.” Then he hung up.  
He turned to Aziraphale. “We’re picking Warlock up on Tuesday. Operation Hell Spawn is in motion.”   
“Operation Hell Spawn?”  
“Yes,” Crowley blinked at Aziraphale. “I thought all the staff was in on it.”   
“Apparently not the garden staff.”  
“The household has been planning to take Warlock away from his parents.”  
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You- you what?”  
“I’m going to take Warlock away from his parents. It was too constricting there for him. The only reason that I didn’t set this plan in motion sooner was that we were sure he was the Anti-Christ. Position of power and all that.”   
“No, no, I get that part, but why are you taking an eleven-year-old child away from his parents?”  
“Because they’re miserable parents and don’t know the slightest thing about what they’re doing.”   
“Not ta’ interrupt ye, laddie,” cut in Shadwell, “But what are ye talkin’ about?”  
“None of your business,” Aziraphale quipped before turning back to Crowley. “Fine. I acquiesce, however, we’ve yet to see what the Dowlings will do without us there to tip the balance.”  
“If you’ll recall, we entered the Dowling household when he was five. We do know how they worked with him. They neglected him. Completely ignored they had a child after the first week of changing nappies. They hired a wetnurse, the father went returned to work immediately, and the mother barely saw her son. They’re not fit to have a child.”   
By this point, Crowley’s eyes had gone completely serpentine, and Aziraphale could see little scales beginning to appear on the sides of his face.   
Aziraphale began to say something along the lines of: “But you can’t take a child away from their parents, not without evidence, and not without a place for them to stay,” but Crowley grabbed his arm and began pulling him towards the newly-reformed Bentley.   
“Crowley? Crowley! Stop!” Crowley stopped pulling him along and turned to look at him.   
“I’ll do it, Angel. I will take him. It is in his best interest. And ...Someone… help me, I will raise him on my own if you won’t do it with me.”  
Aziraphale paused for a moment. “You-You’re actually going to do this? Raise a child that isn’t the Anti-Christ?”  
“Yes.”  
“Lord help us.”   
“So you’ll do it?”  
“Of course. That boy can’t be all demon, now can he?”  
Crowley’s scales began to retreat back behind his collar once again as he smiled softly. “Thank you,” he said.   
“Of course, my dear.”

Shadwell and Madame Tracy stared as the odd conversation unfolded. Something about taking a child away from neglectful parents.   
Madame Tracy approved.   
Shadwell was more apprehensive.   
When the two (Angels? No, that didn’t work. Not with Mr Crowley’s apparent affinity with the devil. Demons? That didn’t work either. Mr Fell was too… how would you put it… cherubic to be a demon. Beings? That didn’t fit right either, but it worked better than anything else Madame Tracy could think of.) beings began to move in the direction of the former inverno - now car, Madame Tracy spoke up. “Excuse me?”  
Mr Fell turned and smiled. “Yes?”   
Mr Crowley rolled his eyes.  
“How would you suppose we get home from the airbase?” Madame Tracy asked. “The scooter seems to be out of petrol, and it’s much too slow to get us back to London before sundown.”  
Indeed it was. Mr Fell had burned through it all the way to Tadfield Airbase and then some, and the sun was already setting.   
“Why,” Mr Fell turned to Mr Crowley, who instantly threw up his hands and stalked off to the car. “I do believe that you can come with us.”  
“And what about me scooter?” Shadwell asked.  
“Your scooter will be able to fit in the back,” Mr Fell began to wheel the scooter towards the car as Shadwell pointed out the obvious fact of: “There’s not enough room for a scooter, much less a scooter and a sidecar.”  
“Oh,” Mr Fell smiled a little wider. “That won’t be a problem at all.”  
It was not a problem for Mr Fell nor Madame Tracy. It was, however, an annoyance for Mr Crowley, and a problem for Shadwell to wrap his mind around. 

Tuesday morning came quickly. Crowley and Aziraphale had set up a room for Warlock in the upstairs flat of A. Z. Fell and Co, and Crowley had moved some of his more… important possessions in as well.   
These possessions included all of his plants, misters, and some really large speakers, which he had moved in very specifically after he had set the plants down in their permanent home in a spare room.   
All was ready for the arrival of Warlock.   
Crowley had styled his hair differently and began to speak in the lilting and stern way that Ashtoreth spoke in.   
Aziraphale was not keen to change his appearance again, as the dirt required to pull off Brother Frances was emphatically not allowed in his bookshop, which they were fully intending to return to immediately after picking up Warlock.   
With papers and documents stuffed into a folder, Crowley and Aziraphale stepped into the Bently, and Crowley started the engine. They were at the Dowling’s English Residence in under an hour, thanks to Crowley’s driving.   
Aziraphale had made Crowley promise to drive the speed limit while Warlock was in the car. He had made him Promise. With a capital P. That had to mean something to even Crowley, right?

Warlock was waiting for the pair of them with Mrs Cawldwell. His suitcase was packed.   
When the Bently pulled up, Crowley stopped for a minute and looked at the boy. Wait- the not-boy. Aziraphale recognised the shift, and smiled.   
“They figured it out,” Crowley said, a grin forming on his face. “They finally figured it out.”  
“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “They did.”  
And in a moment, Crowley had bolted from the Bently, arms wide, calling out “Warlock! It’s wonderful to see you, my little Hell Spawn!”  
Warlock knocked his suitcase over in his haste to get to Crowley.   
Aziraphale opened the car door, brandishing the paperwork. “Are we all ready, then?”  
Crowley looked at the top of Warlock’s head fondly. “Are you ready, Warlock?”  
Warlock nodded and let go of their Nanny.   
Crowley reached down and brushed the hair out of Warlock’s eyes and froze.   
“Warlock,” he asked carefully. “What did he do to you?”  
Warlock ducked their head.   
“Did you tell him?” Crowley asked. “Did you tell him what you told me?”  
Warlock nodded, and Crowley’s face hardened. He grabbed Warlock’s hand and marched up the stairs with Aziraphale and Mrs Cawldwell in tow with paperwork.   
Crowley burst into Thaddeus Dowling’s home office, startling him out of staring off into space while on the phone with someone.   
“Thaddeus Dowling,” Crowley growled. “Hang up and listen to what Warlock has to say.”  
Mr Dowling held up his finger to Crowley and continued his conversation. “So, what did we decide on for the trade with Iran?”  
So Crowley did something drastic. Perhaps not the wisest thing under the circumstances, but the most appropriate thing, given that Crowley was a demon, and had little to no impulse control when it came to incompetent parents.   
“What the HELL was that for?” Mr Dowling raged. “I thought we fired you.”  
“No, I quit. In preparation for this moment.” Crowley squeezed Warlock’s hand. “I am taking Warlock with me. He is not safe, accepted, nor comfortable here. Given recent events, I believe that the best course of action for these circumstances is for the child to come with me and my associates.”   
Mr Dowling’s face was slowly changing from red to purple. “And what circumstances are they?”  
“I believe that Warlock told you over dinner last night,” Crowley said.   
“That,” Mr Dowling said. “Was nothing.”  
“And the way that you reacted was not appropriate in the least,” Crowley continued as if Mr Dowling had not said anything. “I have signed paperwork from three separate judges, and as Warlock is a naturalized UK citizen, there is no reason why they, yes they should not come with me. I am a qualified child care professional, and practically raised him since the age of five, which is much more than you can say.”  
Mr Dowling tried to say something, anything, that would give his argument some sort of weight. He came up with nothing other than the look of a fish.   
Crowley turned to Warlock. “Is there anything you would like to add?”  
Warlock nodded. “May I swear?” They asked.   
“Of course you may swear, my dear little demon.”  
Warlock turned to his father. “Your ego is the size of your waistband, yet your brain is the size of a pea,” he said.   
With that, Mrs Cawldwell placed the papers and a letter of resignation on his desk. Then all four of them left Mr Dowling’s office.   
They piled Warlock’s things into the Bently and drove off.   
“You didn’t swear,” Crowley said, turning to face Warlock. “Why?”  
“He wasn’t worth it,” was all that Warlock said.   
Crowley drove the speed limit, and Aziraphale took out his tin of car biscuits and offered it to Warlock.   
“Thank you, Brother Frances.”  
“Call me Zira.”  
“Okay,” Warlock munched on a biscuit. “Thank you, Zira.”  
Crowley broke the speed limit on the M25. By a whole hundred kilometres per hour.   
Warlock loved it.


	2. The Upsides and Downsides of Warlock meeting Adam and The Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock has fun. They deserve it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, guys. The amount of people who read this in the past 24 hours is amazing. I wanted to give Warlock a little bit of a break, because they deserve it. And you do too.   
> Have fun guys.

Julie Robinson was lost; hence the whole ‘wandering about London, looking for a place to wait till the rain passes.’ She could have gone back to her dorm room, but her roommate had… company over.   
It’s not that Julie didn’t like Tim, she just really didn’t feel right when her roommate had him over after a romantic dinner.   
That’s when she saw the bookstore. It was one of the only lighted shops on the street, and the little tag in the doorway was turned to the open side.   
Julie opened the door and began to look around for the shopkeeper.   
“Hello?” she called. “Anyone there?”  
There was some rustling from the back room. “One minute!” came the voice of what Julie assumed was the shopkeeper.   
Sure enough, from behind the door to the backroom, there came a man dressed in light clothing, carrying a rather large stack of antique-looking books.   
“Hello,” the man said. “What can I do for you?” His eyes were narrowed, voice filled with suspicion.   
“I was just hoping to wait out the rain.”  
The man’s expression instantly became clearer. “Ah! Of course! I apologise for the suspicion. You never know who’s wandering about in the rain.”  
“Like book thieves.”  
The man laughed. “Exactly like book thieves.” He set down the books and walked around the counter to Julie. “Would you like a cup of cocoa? I believe that I have a brand new recipe that I was hoping to try.”  
“Oh,” Julie blinked. “Oh, you don’t have to.”  
“Nonsense!” The man bustles into the back room, gesturing for Julie to follow.   
Unsure of what else to do, Julie follows, draping her coat and scarf over her arm.   
In the backroom, the shopkeeper had set out two cups full of steaming brown, sweet-smelling liquid.   
“Here you are,” he picked up one of the mugs and handed it to her.   
Julie took the mug and eyed it carefully.   
The shopkeeper picks up his own mug and takes a sip. His eyes closed as he leaned against the counter. He sighed happily.   
Then the back door to the shop opened.   
In bustled a man dressed in black and a young boy who looked to be around eleven years old.   
The shopkeeper immediately set down his cocoa. “Warlock!” he grinned. “How was school?”  
The boy, Warlock, shrugged. “Fine.”   
The man in black came up to the Shopkeeper and gave him a slight kiss on the cheek. “He passed his test with flying colours. Ah,” He’d noticed Julie. “Hello.” He turned back to the Shopkeeper. “Why?”  
“It’s raining,” the Shopkeeper shrugged. The man in black rolled his eyes and ushered Warlock up some stairs, probably to the flat above.   
Julie looked at the Shopkeeper. “I should probably get going,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you away from your son.”  
“Oh, they’re not my son,” the Shopkeeper said. “They’re my kid. And I’m sure that your roommate and their partner are cleaned up by now.”  
Julie made to set down the cocoa, but the Shopkeeper stopped her. “Oh, no need to waste cocoa, just drop the cup by sometime tomorrow. We’ll be open around four. Be sure to be here by five-thirty, though. I’m closing then.”  
Julie nodded, a bit bemused, and pressed the cup close to her as she made her way to the front of the shop.   
It had stopped raining. 

“And then, we learned about witches and the witch hunts!” Warlock explained excitedly. “It was really cool, and I want to be a witch!”  
Crowley leaned toward Warlock. “You want to be a witch?”  
“Yes!”  
“We have a friend who’s a witch,” Aziraphale cut in, looking up from his book. “We could go see her and you could learn a few things.”   
Warlock’s eyes widened. “Really?”  
“Really,” Crowley said. “Would you like to?”  
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Warlock cheered.   
“We’ll go to Tadfield tomorrow.” Crowley picked up his phone and began tapping at it. “I’ll make sure Anathama’s available.”  
“And if she’s not?” Aziraphale asked.   
“She won’t be busy.” There was an air of certainty in his voice that left no room for questioning.   
Aziraphale nodded, stood up, walked over to the phone, and called Newt to warn him. 

Anathema was not busy. For some reason, Newt was called out of town by his family, and Adam had picked up on the stay very far away from this woman for the day vibe that Crowley had shot everybody’s way. Not because Adam couldn’t overpower Crowley, far from that.   
He was just feeling lazy that day and wanted to spend time with the Them.   
So, Anathema was not busy.   
That didn’t mean that she was happy about it.   
“So this is the kid you thought was the Anti-Christ?” She asked.   
“Yes,” Aziraphale said, ever the patient angel.   
“And their name is Warlock?”  
“Yes.”  
“And they want to learn how to be a witch?”  
“Yes.”  
“... Okay.”  
Anathema lay out some of her supplies.   
“Warlock, would you like to come over here?”  
Warlock zipped over to her side, staring in wonder at the tools laid over the kitchen table.   
“This,” Anathema held up a crystal on a long chain. “Is a pendulum. It helps me connect with the spirit world, and can answer simple yes or no questions, as well as give directions.”   
Warlock’s eyes were as large as saucers. “Woah,” they said. “Can I try?”  
“Well, first you need to see how it works.”  
Anathema held the pendulum over her open palm, closed her eyes, and concentrated. When she opened her eyes, she stared at the pendulum intensely.   
“Show me ‘yes’,” she said.   
The pendulum moved in a straight line up and down the length of her palm.   
“Show me ‘no’,” she said.   
The pendulum moved in a straight line across her palm.   
“Okay,” Anathema looked up at Warlock. “What would you like to ask it?”  
“Where the Anti-Christ is.”  
“We’re not asking it that. Adam wants to play with his friends today,” Crowley said.   
“His name is Adam?” Warlock looked at Crowley excitedly.   
“Yes, his name is Adam. And he wants to play with his friends today. You’ll meet him later.”  
Warlock shrugged. “How about…” He thought carefully. “Did I get an A on my last maths test?”  
Anathema repeated Warlock’s question. “Did Warlock get an A on their last maths test?”  
The Pendulum moved in a straight line up and down the length of her palm.   
“Yes,” Anathema interpreted.   
“How did it know?” Warlock stared at the stone at the end of the chain.   
“It’s connected to the spirit world. It knows most things,” Anathema said. “Would you like to try now?”  
“Yes.” Warlock held out their hands as Anathema deposited the pendulum and showed them how to hold it correctly.   
“Now remember, you have to ask the pendulum what ‘yes’ and ‘no’ are.”  
“Show me ‘yes’,” Warlock said, focusing intensely on the crystal.   
The pendulum moved diagonally across their palm.   
Warlock looked at Anathema, unsure of what to do.   
“It’s okay, everybody’s Yes and No are different. They can change between sessions too.”  
Warlock nodded and returned their attention to the pendulum.  
“Show me ‘no’.”  
The pendulum moved in a circle in the centre of their palm.   
“Now, ask it something.”  
“Do Nanny and Zira love me?”  
The pendulum violently moved diagonally across Warlock’s palm.  
Anathema smiled gently. “There’s your answer.”  
Warlock’s grin was blinding as they looked at their guardians.   
“Warlock,” Crowley asked. “Would you like to continue with your magic lesson?”  
“Yeah,” they said. “What’s that?” Warlock pointed at a stick with another crystal.   
“That’s a wand.”

Warlock had their magic lessons with Anathema every Saturday afternoon after tea, and it just got slightly tedious to drive from London to Tadfield every Saturday.   
A month into the magic lessons, Aziraphale was having tea with Newt, both enjoying the (safely) de-technology-fied backyard of Jasmine Cottage, and Aziraphale’s brain clicked.   
“How expensive is real estate here?” He asked Newt.   
“Uh, I- I don’t know,” came Newt’s reply. “Are you thinking of buying a house?”  
Aziraphale smiled and shrugged. “I might be thinking about it.”  
“Well,” Newt took a sip of tea. “You should maybe talk to Adam about it. Maybe get… someone… out of the neighbourhood.”  
“Are you talking about Mr Tyler?”  
“I could be talking about anybody.”  
“But you’re talking about Mr R. P. Tyler,” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.   
“Fine,” Newt admitted. “Yes, I’m talking about R. P. Tyler. God-” Newt put a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t- I’m- I don’t-”  
“It’s quite all right,” Aziraphale took a leisurely sip of tea, which should have been cold by now, but was not by some strange ethereal miracle that the Head Office would later decide to ignore because they weren’t supposed to talk about some things in the Head Office of Heaven. “But I will talk to Adam if Crowley decides that it’s a good idea. And if Warlock wants to.”  
Newt nodded. 

So Aziraphale and Crowley decided to buy a house in Tadfield for the weekends.   
So they talked to Adam, who said that he couldn’t remove the Tylers. Apparently, they were too much of an “institution” (Although Adam had pronounced it “in-sa-toot-ion”.  
Instead, he found a way to make room for Warlock, Crowley, and Aziraphale. He simply created a new house. That nobody remembered hadn’t been there the day before. And the names on the deed to the house was A. Z. Fell and Anthony J. Crowley. Miraculously.   
So Aziraphale and Crowley moved their family down to Tadfield.   
One bonus of this was that Warlock had more contact with Adam and the Them.   
The Them came over whenever Warlock was free, which was quite often. Warlock would return an hour after sunset, thoroughly exhausted (socially, physically, and mentally), and ready to fall into a 12-hour coma.  
They were good friends. Warlock would go on for hours about their adventures with the Them and Adam.   
The downside of this was that Warlock had more contact with Adam and the Them.   
Warlock and the Them had summoned Crowley three times when they were playing Cult of the Demonic, and Aziraphale four times when they were playing Cult of the Heavenly Host. It was getting quite annoying. Crowley had once been pulled away from pulling down the internet for downtown London, and it had taken him twenty minutes to get back to what he was doing. He hadn’t been upset though, because Warlock, Adam, and the Them had been quite cute in their dark robes. 

This also meant that occasionally, Aziraphale or Crowley would get contacted by R.P. Tyler (who Adam was yet to remove from the neighbourhood) to “Get those rapscallions under control or so help me God, I will *insert something that would be drastic to anyone other than an ethereal or occult being*.”   
This would lead either to Aziraphale apologising, but saying that he had no control over what Warlock nor what Adam and the Them did when they were away from the house, or Crowley laughing and shutting the door in R.P. Tyler’s face.   
It was more often Aziraphale because Crowley liked to spend time with Anathema because she and Crowley had very similar senses in style and fashion.   
Anathema, however, found sunglasses repulsive because she couldn’t see anything without them.   
Her exact words were, “I can’t see for shit in those dark-ass glasses.”  
Crowley hadn’t brought up the glasses again and had even taken to taking off his sunglasses when he entered Anathema’s cottage.   
Newt had been getting better about not flinching at Crowley’s eyes, much to Crowley’s chagrin.   
But everything was settling in nicely. And Anathema’s biscuits were delectable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment on what you think or if I got anything wrong.   
> I live on comments. I will be better about responding.


	3. I love you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock really needs a hug. He gets one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!  
> Enjoy!

Warlock had been staying with Aziraphale and Crowley for three months. Their new parents were the best things that had happened to them in their eleven-year long life. There was no disputing that fact.   
Even when Nanny was just a nanny and not a parent, Nanny cared. She clearly cared. When they fell, Nanny would be there to catch them, give them a peck on their skinned knees and cheek. She would give them little presents on their birthdays (Their favourite was a crow skull, which now rested safely on Warlock’s bedside table, along with the crystallised bugs, quartz, and Rainbow the Cactus). And she would always sing them the best lullabies.   
And even when Zira was just a gardener, he was warm, to everyone and everything. He told Warlock stories about everything they would ask about (one had asked about the Titanic at one point, and Zira had gone on about someone who seemed suspiciously like Nanny and how amazing the food was before he talked at all about the sinking, which was all Warlock had wanted to know about in the first place). He would give Warlock the warmest hugs, and the brightest smiles. And he made the most amazing apple pies.   
The two of them were… amazing. And sometimes, Warlock thought, they were more than an angel and a demon. They were better.   
But Warlock wasn’t sure that they were the best thing for them.   
Warlock saw how their lives had changed.   
When they first moved in with Zira and Nanny, Zira would read for many hours before remembering that Warlock needed their laundry done. He would do it with a smile of course, but it was a deviation. Something that Warlock knew would have been much simpler if they had never come into their lives.   
Warlock saw how Nanny would eye something when he was feeling devious. He’d tilt his glasses down to reveal his cool eyes. Then he’d look at Warlock, give them a smile, and slide the glasses back into place. He wouldn’t look at the thing that had caught his attention after he saw Warlock.   
That made it hard when Warlock was at dinner with Zira and Nanny. Nanny had cooked that night, something that Warlock usually looked forward to because even though Nanny didn’t eat, he still enjoyed the smell, so it always smelled (as Zira so excellently put it) scrumptious. And that said nothing about the taste, which was somehow always better than the smell.   
Nanny didn’t cook before Warlock came to live with them. Warlock knew that. (There had been some burnt pasta dinners before Zira came in to help the first few weeks.)  
Over dinner, Nanny and Zira were discussing the recent developments in their respective head offices, which Warlock usually found interesting, but that night, they couldn’t shake the thought of what it would have been like without them in Nanny and Zira’s life.   
Probably more peaceful.   
No constant visits from R.P. Tyler because of something Warlock and Adam did, no reason for Nanny to spend his valuable time cooking for Warlock, no obligation to listen to Warlock go on ten-minute long rants about children at school who hated him, or he annoyed, no need for the two of them to do anything they didn’t want to do.  
“Warlock?” Nanny’s voice drifted through the fog of their mind. “Warlock, dear, are you alright?”  
Warlock tried to open their mouth to say something but found that the pressure that had been slowly building up in their eyes had moved to their throat too, so they shut their mouth and closed their eyes and leaned their forehead on their wrist.   
“Warlock?” Zira was giving them the I’m very concerned look that he must have honed over the centuries of being friends with Nanny.   
“I’m sorry,” Warlock croaked through their closed up throat. “I’m so sorry. I’m-” Their throat shut them up again. They couldn’t cry. They wouldn’t cry.   
Warlock felt Nanny lay a hand on their back and Warlock just started sobbing.   
And Nanny was there, rubbing their back, whispering soothing words into their ear.   
There was a slight clink as Zira probably set down something warm and sweet in front of Warlock on the table.   
“I’m sorry, Nanny, I-” Warlock took a shuddering breath. “I just- I-”  
“Warlock, you don’t need to apologise,” Zira said, now kneeling on Warlock’s other side.   
“Y-yes I do,” Warlock continued. “I came up here, and I- I- changed things.”  
“Well,” Nanny said. “Of course you changed things. But you changed things for the better.”  
“How?”  
Nanny and Zira didn’t respond immediately, and Warlock buried their head into their arms.   
“Warlock. You can’t seriously believe that we would have taken you in if we didn’t want you.”  
The statement knocked Warlock for a moment.   
They hadn’t considered that.   
“You wanted me?”  
“Of course, my little Hell Spawn,” Nanny rested his cheek on the top of Warlock’s head and embracing them. “Of course we wanted you.”   
Someone wanted them. Someone, two people. Two people actually wanted Warlock in their lives.   
Warlock looked up from their arms and gave a watery smile. “Really?”  
“We love you, Warlock,” Nanny said, turning Warlock’s face to her. “I know it may be hard to believe, but I love cooking for you. I love listening to you talk about school and all the people you’d wish would fall into the deepest trenches of the ocean. I love listening to what that ridiculous Mr Tyler has to tell me about what you did because it’s hilarious to watch his face go from red to purple when he realises that he got the wrong parent. But most of all, I love you. I love everything about you. From the top of your head to the tips of your hoofie-woofies.”  
“Which I haven’t got,” Warlock laughed weakly. “You know I haven’t got them.”  
“Which is one more thing I love about you.” Nanny looked deeply into his eyes, and Warlock realised that his sunglasses were gone. “And I’m sure that Zira feels the same.”  
“I do!” came Zira’s voice from the kitchen. A moment later, he emerged with another cup of hot cocoa. “Now drink your cocoa before it gets cold, child!”  
Warlock giggles and reaches for the mug.   
It’s the perfect temperature. 

Adam and Warlock were sitting on the edge of the woods as the sun fell below the horizon.  
Brian, Pepper and Wensleydale had all gone home early, giving Adam their reasons.   
Brian had grandparents over, and his parents expected him home for an early dinner, Wensleydale wanted to listen to the radio with his father, and Pepper was tired.   
All perfectly adequate reasons.   
Warlock had their legs tucked up to their chest as Adam sprawled all over the place, drawing pictures in the dust with a stick he had found.   
Adam paused in his artistic quest to say, “You know you’re a good friend, don’t you, Warlock?”  
Warlock looked up at him. “What?”  
“You’re a good friend,” Adam repeated, shrugging. “You’re nice.”  
“I’m glad that I satisfy the requirements.”  
“You do more than that. You exceed them by a large margin.”  
“You’re starting to sound like Wensleydale, Adam.”  
“So what? I can sound like whoever I want to.”  
Warlock snorted. “Yeah.”  
“You accept your fate as a good friend, then?”  
Warlock looked at their shoes.   
And then nodded.   
“Good,” Adam said, standing up and brushing off his trousers. “Come on then,” he said and held out his hand for Warlock to take.   
Warlock took it. “Where are we going?”  
“We’re going to your house. It’s late, and I think your dad’s got dinner on the table.”  
“Are you coming to dinner?”  
“I’ll ask my parents about next week. My mum’s making macaroni tonight.”  
Warlock smiled. “All right.”  
Adam and Warlock walked away from the sun.   
And strangely enough, the world didn’t get dark until Warlock had waved Adam goodbye at their back door.   
Coincidentally, Nanny had also made Macaroni.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a really weird chapter to write, mostly because I drafted it out and then it felt wrong, but I tried to fix it, so I hope that this was okay.   
> If I got anything wrong, or if it's unrealistic or something, just let me know.   
> I love hearing from you guys. So. Much.   
> Seriously.   
> Please comment.


	4. If you would ask anyone to describe Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale learns more about how Warlock feels about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Thank you all for reading this story! I worked sorta harder on this chapter than a few others because it was a bit of a challenge for me, so I hope you enjoy it.

If you would ask anyone who knew Aziraphale who he was, many would most likely say “an angel” in the human sense of "oh, that person’s an angel."   
The people of Soho would say “The bookshop owner with the annoying and arbitrary hours” in the sense that Aziraphale has a very convoluted sign detailing the opening hours of the bookshop, which now did not include weekends.  
Exactly three humans would say “an Angel” in the metaphysical or religious sense of "holy crap, that dude has wings and magic powers."   
Three would say “the man dressed in white who did really nothing to stop Satan because Adam did it” because they were the Them, and seriously, Aziraphale didn’t do anything but give moral support and the idea of backup.  
One would say “a bastard who makes adequate cocoa and cake” because this was Anathema and Anathema’s power of being unafraid of anything extended to the metaphysical, apparently.   
One human would be too afraid to say anything other than “a really nice person” because Newt is a human who has enough self-preservation to not call the love of a demon’s life anything but.   
That particular demon calls Aziraphale many things, but if narrowed down to a few words, he would say “bastard” in the sense of "this bastard is mine, and you can’t have him. Looking at you Oscar Wilde."   
And… Aziraphale didn’t really know how either Adam or Warlock would respond to that question.   
He assumed that Adam would respond with something like “strange and smells like books” or something to that effect.   
But Warlock… Warlock was a puzzle. 

Warlock apparently had taken over the upstairs guest bedroom because Aziraphale certainly didn’t use it, and Crowley had commandeered the master bedroom because he was a demon and he could because Aziraphale had offered.  
In a way that was lost on Aziraphale himself.   
But he was all right with that because Aziraphale didn’t sleep, and also because Crowley had said that he would not be averse to sharing with Aziraphale.  
Aziraphale was also currently lost in one of his longer books, so that would keep his attention for the next few days. 

It was midnight. Warlock had put up a fuss about going to bed too early for an eleven-year-old, so to test their luck, Crowley had challenged them to stay up all night. The deal was that if Warlock could stay up all night and all the next day, then they could stay up as long as they wished.   
They had made it to about eleven-thirty and was currently snoring in Crowley’s lap.   
Crowley combed a lazy hand through Warlock’s long hair as he scrolled through something on his phone.   
Aziraphale sighed, checked the page he was on, and closed his book.   
“Crowley,” he said softly. “Do you think that Warlock… likes me?”  
The reply was instantaneous. “Why would they not? You practically raised them.”  
“Yes, but I worked in the garden. You were practically their mother.”  
“And you were their father,” Crowley looked up from his phone and right into Aziraphale’s eyes. “They spent hours every day in the garden with you. They love you just as much as they love me.”  
“And you can tell?”  
“You may be able to sense people’s love of others, or places, or objects, but you are rubbish at figuring out how much people love you.”  
Aziraphale laughed softly. “I suppose you’re right. Took me over a thousand centuries for you.”  
“Almost two thousand,” Crowley grinned. 

Aziraphale’s view of the world was different from anyone else he knew. His world was made up entirely of love and its different facets. This was different from any human or angel in existence; that he knew for certain. He’d been on Earth a long time. Long enough to have figured out how it made itself known.   
(Crowley had a harder time sensing love. He worked more with fears and annoyances. But he could figure out love if he focused hard enough. He had been an angel at some point.)  
But Aziraphale’s world revolved around love. He would see the love between people, all it’s different forms and shades almost like gravitational fields. He could see who was in love whit who. There were literally arcs of energy bursting from each, reaching for the other.   
And he could feel love too. That was a given, he was an angel. But, if he was around someone long enough, he could feel their emotions for him if he focused (but Aziraphale felt that this was intrusive, and didn’t do it often).  
The downside to this view of the universe was that he could also see when people didn’t love someone or something. The arcs of energy just… weren’t there. The feeling was null and void. It was just empty.  
Worse still was when the love Aziraphale had seen planted, grow, and bloom slowly faded away into oblivion. 

But Crowley was right. Aziraphale accepted that he was rubbish at seeing the love for him in others.   
But he supposed that was a good thing. Because then he was able to feel the very human feeling of wondering if someone else loved him back. Because he was often too wrapped up in something or didn’t spend enough time with someone to be able to feel their emotions.   
So he supposed that he just needed to work harder to know if Warlock actually did have the same love for him as they did Crowley.   
Aziraphale hoped so. He really, and truly did. 

It began to become clear when Warlock came downstairs after school one day into the bookshop.   
It was open, which was rare, so Aziraphale was on his worst behaviour for customers.   
Warlock must have taken it to mean that they were supposed to be the happy one in the store.   
This really came to a head when a customer asked Aziraphale who the boy was.   
He supposed that Warlock had never come down, and Aziraphale never really had any reason to mention that they had adopted Warlock, so it made sense that none of Aziraphale’s customers would know.   
But the question caught the attention of the university students studying together. 

They were regulars and had been so wrapped up in their studying that they hadn’t noticed the approach of a kid carrying a tray full of hot cocoa cups for them till they said “Hi.”  
The students jumped and looked the kid up and down.   
“Hey, bud,” Amanda said.   
The kid glared at the nickname, but said: “My dad said to bring these over to you because you weren’t going to buy anything.”  
Stephen raised an eyebrow. “Your dad?”  
“Yeah, he runs the store.”   
James leaned into Stephen’s ear. “Fell has a kid?”  
Amanda elbowed James, thanked the kid, and took the cocoa.   
When the kid walked away, James rephrased his question. “When did Fell get a kid?” “Remember when his store didn’t open for a while? He was out of town for like a week. He probably adopted them then.”  
“Wait-” Stephen held up a finger, at the top of the bookshelf above James. There was a large hissing sound from the top. “The snake’s here.”  
Amanda turned around, eyes bright and camera out. “Where?”  
“It just- yeah,” there was a heavy thump as the snake hit the floor on the opposite side of the bookshelf. “It just went over the other edge of the shelf.”  
Amanda put her camera away dejectedly.   
“Everyone doing all right over here?” Mr Fell materialised by Stephen’s elbow.   
“Yes, thank you, Mr Fell,” said Amanda and James in unison as Stephen jumped and swore.   
“Who’s the kid?” Stephen asked when he’d gotten his breath back.   
“The kid?” Mr Fell asked, confusion settling on his features before brightening. “Oh, you mean Warlock!”  
“Warlock?”  
“They had very... unconventional parents.”  
“Are you not their dad? They called you their dad.”  
“Oh?” Mr Fell’s face again looked confused. Then comprehension dawned. “Oh. Oh! Yes! I am their dad.” His attention returned to the students. “Are you sure that you don’t need anything else?”  
“We’re sure,” James grinned.   
Mr Fell smiled at them, took the now empty tray, and walked back to the counter to continue to glare at possible book-purchasers. 

It became even more clear when Warlock came to Aziraphale for help on their homework.   
“Zira?” Warlock asked, crouched over some homework. “Do you know algebra?”  
Aziraphale looked over the sheet and nodded. “Yes. I know this type of algebra.”  
“There are other types?”  
“Yes, but you don’t need to know them right now because they’re not on this sheet.”  
Warlock nodded and pointed to a question with their pencil. “How do you do this one?”  
Aziraphale picked up a pencil and spare piece of paper and began to show Warlock how to do the problem.   
When they had finished the sheet, Warlock understood this facet of algebra to Aziraphale’s standards for eleven-year-old children. Which meant that he’d basically gotten it down.   
“Zira,” Warlock asked. “What’s the hardest math problem you know how to do?”  
“My dear,” Aziraphale smiled. “We don’t have four hours for one problem, much less the space for it.”  
Warlock’s eyes widened. And then they nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

It was again midnight. Warlock had made the same deal with Crowley about staying up later. They had made it to eleven forty-five. Soon enough, they’d be able to pick their own bedtime, Aziraphale was sure of that.  
But when he finished his book and looked up, he blinked.   
He blinked and saw something new.   
The energy around Warlock was different. It wasn’t just visual. He could-  
Aziraphale could feel the love coming off of him. He hadn’t felt that kind of love… ever.   
He’d felt the love of friendship, the love of a sibling, the love of a lover even.   
But the love of a child for a parent. That was something… wonderful.   
Crowley watched Aziraphale process the sheer overwhelming emotion of parental love and took a picture on his camera.   
This would be wonderful blackmail. Or scrapbook material. If he ever got into that kind of thing. 

If you would ask anyone who knew Aziraphale who he was, many would most likely say “an angel.”  
The people of Soho would say “The bookshop owner with the annoying and arbitrary hours.”  
Exactly three humans would say “an Angel” in the other sense of the word.  
Three more would say “the man dressed in white who did really nothing to stop Satan because Adam did it.”  
One would say “a bastard who makes adequate cocoa and cake.”   
One human would be too afraid to say anything other than “a really nice person.”   
That particular demon calls Aziraphale many things, but if narrowed down to a few words, he would say “bastard.”  
Adam would respond with something like “strange and smells like books.”  
And Warlock would say: “dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alex, I hope your day got better.


	5. A name is an important thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock gets a new name. One that fits them better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is sorta short.   
> But I like it, so hey!

A name is an important thing.   
It’s something that one lives up to, a goal to attain, and something to make and call one’s own.   
And sometimes names don’t fit at all.   
Many people went through it, mostly with their first names.   
But here’s the thing, Warlock really didn’t like their last name.   
Dowling was too… wrong.   
It was hard and loose and violent-sounding and didn’t work with who they were, not now, not ever.   
And they didn’t like what it stood for.   
But they’d never had options before. Now they had at least two.   
But, while Warlock was perfectly adept at complaining about something, or learning new words (usually rude ones) and working them into conversation, to the horror of one parent and to the absolute hilarity of the other, they were absolutely unable of speaking to their parents about anything remotely serious without emotionally exploding.   
So they were having some trouble bringing up the idea of changing their last name. 

They’d tried once to go offhand, and had ended up going off on a tangent about homework and their science teacher and had lost the moment, so they began working on a statement that they’d say to their parents to tell them exactly what they needed to say. 

“Hey, Zira?” They asked, fiddling with the paper scribbled all over with their chicken scratch.   
“Yes, my child?”  
“Could you help me with something?”  
“Of course,” Zira said. “What is it you need help with?”  
Warlock held out the paper. “I wrote this out for you.”  
Zira took the paper and began to read.   
Warlock fidgeted with their hands as they waited for him to finish reading.   
Zira looked up. “You know that your name already changed, right?”  
“It did?”  
“Yes. Legally. I must have told you, right?”  
“No,” Warlock couldn’t believe it.   
“Yes, I have the paperwork here somewhere.” Zira began rummaging through some papers he had on his desk. “Ah, ha!” Zira emerged triumphant from the pile, holding a legal document bearing Warlock’s details.  
He handed the document to Warlock and pointed to the first line. “We took the liberty of changing it for you. Your adoption had been in the works for years.”   
Warlock looked at the adoption certificate.  
Under the name and surname section was the name “Warlock Crowley.”  
Warlock took one look at the name, HIS name, and immediately felt choked up. “O-oh.”   
Zira immediately began to explain. “Your adoption has been in the works from the household staff for years. They recognised that you needed a new family as soon as you had a parental figure that you would be able to rely on. And that didn’t happen until your nanny showed up when you were five.”   
Warlock tried to comprehend what they were hearing. It was a lot, and they hadn’t been expecting this.   
But Zira was on a roll. “Crowley was a perfect fit for you and the staff started to plan how-”  
Warlock held up their hand. “Can you not… tell me this right now?” they asked in a small voice. “I wasn’t expecting this.”  
“Of course, dear.” Zira patted Warlock’s back. “I’m going to go pack for the weekend. Make sure you’re set. We’re leaving tomorrow.”  
“Sure, Zira.”  
Zira moved out of the room to go pack, leaving Warlock in Zira’s office, holding their adoption certificate that bore a name that fit them perfectly.   
Warlock Crowley felt like a powerful name.   
It was something to live up to.   
Which is exactly what a name should be. 

And as it turned out, Crowley was a good name for a powerful witch too.   
Anathathema really liked how it sounded when Warlock told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write.   
> Please comment, drink water, and sleep well, you guys.   
> Lookin' at you, Alex. SLEEP my dude.


	6. Aziraphale almost fainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock continues their magick lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun to write.   
> There was so much research for this, I know way more about spells in Wicca than I ever thought I'd know.

Warlock’s magick lessons were coming along.   
They had been working with energy and personal growth for a few weeks, and one Friday evening, as Warlock was about to settle down for the night (it was ten-forty-five. They’d stayed up all night and regretted it the whole day after, but had decided to move their bedtime back an hour and a half), when the telephone in the Tadfield Cottage rang.   
Nanny answered it curtly before handing it to Warlock.   
It was Anathema.   
“Hey, Warlock,” she said. “I just wanted you to know that we’re going to be casting a spell tomorrow and you’re going to want to do some preparation before our lesson.”  
Warlock’s mouth twitched up into a small grin. “What do I need to do?”  
“Remember the salt that I gave you last time?”  
“Yeah,” Warlock began rummaging about for a scrap of paper and a pencil. “I remember.”  
Anathema gave them instructions, as they scribbled them down on the paper. 

The next day, Warlock showed up on Anathema’s doorstep with damp hair, a layer of salt on their skin, and a large smile on their face.   
“Ready?”   
“Ready.”   
Anathema lead Warlock into her house and began to unpack the supplies she’d collected for them.   
“So what spell are we doing today?” Warlock asked, unsure of what to do.   
“We’re going to cast a luck spell. What do you think of that?” Anathema asked.   
“Sounds cool.”   
The supplies were laid out, a few candles, a bowl, a piece of paper, and a pen.   
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Anathema said. “I’ve purified the space, and you’ve cleansed your aura. We’re going to write out a spell for luck.”  
“How do I do that?”  
“Uh… You write it?”  
“How?”  
“I-” Anathema thought for a moment. “I’ll give you an example.” She took an extra piece of paper from her pocket and scribbled something out on it.   
Warlock took it. “I am fortunate, I am proud, I am lucky,” they read. “That’s a spell?”  
“No. Well, when you infuse it with intention, yes it is. Spells are a way that you can sort of i-impress your will. On the universe, or whatever governing body, you think is there.”  
Warlock nodded.   
“Now, you need to write out your own spell. Spells don’t generally work when someone else writes it for you. And-” Anathema held up a finger. “You can’t tell me what it is. Or anyone. A spell is personal and secret and only for you to know about. That’s what helped my family get through some of the witch hunts that others fell prey to.”  
“But witch hunts don’t happen anymore.”  
“You never know with Shadwell,” Anathema smiled, jokingly.   
Warlock laughed. “That’s fair.”  
So Warlock wrote out a spell. They turned to Anathema when they were finished, and folded the paper.   
“Now,” Anathema produced a matchbox from her pocket. “We light the candles and begin.”  
The candles went in front of Warlock, something for them to focus on as they tried to cast the spell.   
Anathema went out of the room to bake cookies because she felt like it.  
And spellwork is personal.  
Warlock focused.   
They watched as the flames flickered when Anathema closed the door behind her.   
They watched as the wax began to melt and become a pool of liquid… something.   
They watched as the small stream of smoke dissipated into the air.   
They focused, and focused, and focused, repeating the words they’d written on the folded paper held in their hands.   
And then, they cast the spell.   
Warlock wasn’t sure exactly when they did it, but at some point in the half-hour that they were focusing on the candle and spell they’d written, but somewhere in there, the spell was cast.   
When they finally stopped focusing so hard, Warlock was filled with an intense urge to burn the paper.   
So they did.   
They set the paper on fire and set it in the bowl to watch it’s edges curl up and glow.   
It was small, so there wasn’t too much smoke. 

Anathema’s cookies, on the other hand, were rather smokey. But they tasted good. 

On the way out of Jasmine cottage, Warlock accidentally tripped over a nick in the floor. They fell forward and hit the ground just hard enough to knock the wind out of them, but not hard enough to hurt.   
And then they looked at the wall next to the door.   
There was an outline under the wallpaper that looked like a compartment.   
Anathema didn’t seem to notice and helped Warlock to their feet.   
When Warlock looked again, the outline in the wallpaper was invisible.  
“Anathema,” Warlock said carefully. “You’re renting here, right?”  
“No, I bought it a few months ago, why?”  
“Can I peel back some wallpaper?”  
Anathema looked at them carefully before answering. “Why?”  
“Because,” Warlock lay back down on the ground and stared at the now-visible outline of a small door. “I think there’s something behind it.”

Warlock did not attain permission to peel back the wallpaper.   
They did attain permission, however, to cut along the indentations and try to open the compartment.   
Anathema handed them a penknife, and Warlock began to cut.   
The door to the secret compartment swung open as soon as the last of the wallpaper holding it to the wall was cut.   
Inside was a chest.   
And inside the chest was a book.   
By Agnes Nutter.   
The title read: “Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter Concerning the Worlde that is to Com: Ye Saga Continued”.  
Anathema picked up the book and sighed. “I thought that burning the first copy would be the end of it. Apparently not.” She opened the book to the front page.  
Inside was written: “Ye shall NOT burn thise book. But if ye dislike it so, give it to the younge one.”

Warlock returned to their cottage, the book of prophecies and bag of cookies in hand. 

Aziraphale nearly fainted when he saw the book.

Newt actually did faint when Anathema told him about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> Personal thing here: I almost didn't post this today because I ate a super spicy pepper and almost got sick. I made a mistake but I regret nothing.   
> Also this was super fun to write because Warlock is just a cool human if you get past their super icy exterior.   
> I love writing this stuff.   
> Ok, peeps. Please take care of yourselves. 
> 
> And Alex- good luck at auditions.


	7. Arthur Young has a mental breakdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Young has a weird few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this took so long to do, I had a busy weekend.   
> But here's a long chapter to make up for it!  
> Please enjoy reading it!

Deirdre Young had to continually remind herself that she loved Adam.   
It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. She absolutely did. It was just that he had the strangest friends.   
His old friends, who the neighbours had taken to calling The Them, were a bit tiring for her.   
Wensleydale with his constant chatter and all the “Actually”s peppered into all conversations, Pepper with her constant vigilance and suspicion, and Brian, dear and lovely Brian, who got dirt and muck and ice cream and literally anything else on her clean walls, floors, and somehow, ceilings.   
But then the Thing happened. Deirdre wasn’t sure what happened, exactly, she just knew that something happened. So she called it the Thing.   
She had been compiling a list in her head of things that may or may not have something to do with the Thing.   
One: Dog. Dog had come almost a week before the Thing happened. In fact, when she had learned that Adam had gotten a dog, she had felt a fleeting moment of fear. She wasn’t sure why, but she was afraid. Maybe it was because of the new smell that was going to be going on in the house. Wet dog is a smell difficult to get out of upholstery, and Adam isn’t one for noticing too much outside of his own little world.   
Two: Anathema. The woman had moved into around the same time that Dog showed up. Deirdre had often seen her wondering about the woods with a crystal on a chain, occasionally stopping and looking around, or taking out a map, or staring at people in the strangest ways.   
Deirdre was not a fan of Anathema, and when she had learned that Adam had spent time with her, she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it. She knew that she should be somewhat alarmed, but she was also so… happy. That Adam was finding new friends and making connections with the neighbours.   
Three: the strange tunnels that seemed to be appearing all over Tadfield. There were just tunnels everywhere now. Openings to tunnels behind bushes and giant holes that lived under trees. She had tried to get in one of them once, to see if Adam was in one (and because she didn’t have too much excitement in her life anymore and wanted a small adventure), and found that she couldn’t enter. It was as if there was a door barring her entrance to the long, winding, hypnotizingly inciting tunnel.   
Four: The New House. She capitalised those words because the house was simply there that day. Nobody questioned it, so neither did Deirdre.   
Five: the Crowley-Fell family that lived in the New House. The Crowley-Fell family consisted of two men and their kid. (Deirdre could never figure out whether the kid was a boy or a girl on account of their clothing and hair choices, but she always shrugged and moved on with her life.) Her neighbour, Ms Carrie insisted that they had a giant black snake, but Deirdre was certain that the Crowley-Fells had never had any sort of pet. She’d never seen one through the windows, and the kid had never mentioned anything Adam about a snake, and Deirdre was perfectly happy believing that there were no pet snakes in her village, thank you very much. 

It was approaching winter break, and the snow had begun to fall. The snow had been falling consistently through December, as it had for the past eleven years, and that meant that Adam wanted to spend more and more time in the snow. And that meant that Adam spent more time with his friends. And that meant that Adam had made friends with the Crowley-Fell kid.   
Which Deirdre was sure meant trouble because the kid wore impractical shoes. 

Adam had brought the Crowley-Fell kid home for dinner on Tuesday night.   
The Youngs and the Crowley-Fell kid, whose name was Warlock, ate meatloaf.   
Then Adam and Warlock went up to Adam’s room, and didn’t come down for several hours. 

That was when Warlock’s parents showed up.   
They were… an experience.   
But they brought a much-appreciated bottle of wine, though.   
The two introduced themselves as Ant and Alex Crowley-Fell.   
Ant could have been short for anything, thought Deirdre. But she was wearing a skirt. And sunglasses inside, which was odd. 

The wine was delicious, and when asked, Warlock’s parents smiled and Ant said that they had picked it up a while ago she shared a secret smile with her husband. 

“So how long have you two been married?” asked Arthur twenty minutes in.   
“Not long, actually. Just about six months,” answered Alex. “We’d been together for a while, though.”  
“Long time,” Ant said. “In fact, he,” she made a pointed glance at Alex. “didn’t realise we were together for about half the time, and when he realised it, he didn’t even say anything.”  
Alex looked offended. “I knew,” he thought for a moment. “No, you’re right. I didn’t.”  
Ant smiled.   
That was when Warlock came down the stairs. “Nanny!” they said as they threw themselves into Ant’s arms.   
“Hello, my little Hellspawn,” she whispered into their hair.   
Arthur shot a look at Deirdre that said something along the lines of: What?  
“Ready to go home, my dear?” Alex asked Warlock.   
Warlock nodded.   
“All right,” Ant clapped her hands. The lights flickered for a moment, before going back to their normal level. “We’ll be going now. Thank you for the lovely time, Deirdre and Arthur.”  
“Any time,” Arthur said out of habit. “Do come by again soon.”  
Deirdre went to clean up the plates, but found they had vanished.  
Adam waved goodbye to Warlock as the three newcomers to Tadfield closed the front door behind them.   
Deirdre found the dishes in the rack, drying after a wash that nobody had done.

“Why is your friend called Warlock?” Deirdre asked Adam while she tucked him in.  
“They had weird parents before.”  
Adam refused to elaborate on that subject by turning over and pretending to be asleep. 

Arthur, on the other hand kept wondering after the Crowley-Fells.   
“Why do you think Ant and Alex have hyphenated last names while Warlock doesn’t? And why is Warlock called Warlock? And why does Ant call them ‘Hellspawn’?” Arthur had to pause for breath. “It just doesn’t make any sense!”  
“I know,” Deirdre turned a page in her book.   
“But why?”  
“Maybe they’re part of a cult or something? Or maybe they’re satanists,” Deirdre set down her book. “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?”  
Arthur hummed his agreement.   
“Ant looks familiar, don’t you think?”  
“From where?”  
“I don’t know. Somewhere.”  
Deirdre set the book on her bedside table. “These are morning problems,” she said, and clicked off the light. 

The next day, the Crowley-Fell family was packing up to go back to London for the week and Adam had come over to say goodbye.   
He had also dragged along Arthur Young.  
Alex and Ant came out of the house, bustling Warlock along, and Arthur froze.   
He knew where he recognised Ant from.   
It may be because he was wearing pants that day, but it just clicked.   
“Excuse me,” he said, when he had finally managed to unfreeze. “But aren’t you the doctor who worked at that nunnery eleven years ago?”  
Ant froze.   
And for a moment, Arthur felt very, very afraid.   
Then Ant smiled faintly. “Yes,” he said. “Yes I am.”  
“Shame what happened to the place,” Arthur tried to say.   
“Well, that’s what they get, I suppose. They were meddling with things they didn’t understand.”  
“Fire?”  
Ant shrugged, and told Warlock to get into the car that Arthur remembered from the Nunnery that night.   
“Your car is in wonderful shape. How do you keep it so nice?”  
Ant tilted his head and his sunglasses shifted down his nose a few centimetres. “Magic.” Then Ant winked with snake eyes, pushed his sunglasses up his nose, and started the car with a click of his fingers.   
“See you later, Adam!” Called Warlock from inside the car.   
“Bye Warlock!” came Adam’s answer.   
Ant ruffled Adam’s hair. “Take care of your dad, yeah? Angel told me The Book said something about a tree.”  
Adam smiled, and Ant piled into the car with Alex and Warlock.   
When the antique Bentley rolled out of the driveway, Arthur remembered another thing.   
He turned to Adam. “Were they at the airbase with you?”  
“Yep.”   
Arthur Young nodded. “I thought the car was destroyed.”  
Adam looked up at his father. “It was.”  
Arthur Young nodded again, and tried not to think about it for another week. 

That didn’t work. 

The more Arthur tried not to think about it, the more his mind thought about it.   
In fact, he was so preoccupied with thinking about it on Wednesday, that he had failed to notice the sounds of his neighbor’s tree cracking and falling over.   
He was only saved from some serious head trauma when Adam had pulled him out of the way by his hand.   
And then Arthur remembered what Ant had said to Adam about a tree.   
He turned to Adam and told him quite frankly: “You need to tell me what’s going on with Warlock’s family.”  
Adam blinked at him. “That’s a lot. Do you want the whole thing?”  
Arthur nodded, silently regretting his decision when Adam grinned widely and began dragging him out of their yard, down the lane, and towards Jasmine Cottage. 

The occupants of Jasmine Cottage were busy.   
Anathema Device was writing in a notebook and Newton was puttering away in the kitchen, making tea.  
“You know,” Arthur said, trying to break the uncomfortable silence. “Computers are very good for setting ideas down in.”   
Adam looked at him like he was an idiot, but Anathema smiled at him kindly. “Computers aren’t a good idea around Newt.”   
Apparently Anathema was similar to Adam in the not elaborating department.   
When Anathema set her notebook aside, and tea was placed in front of them, Anathema began. “So,” she asked. “I’m surprised that Adam didn’t want to tell you himself. He played a pretty big role.”  
Adam shrugged.  
“So,” Anathema turned to Arthur. “What do you want to know?”  
“Who are the Crowley-Fells?”  
“Oh, they’re a demon, an angel and a witch-in-training.”  
“Wait- A demon? And an Angel?”   
“Yeah.” Anathema sipped her tea.   
“And what has Adam got to do with it?”  
“He’s the Antichrist.”  
“Anathema!” Adam cried. “You weren’t supposed to say!”  
“You never told me that. I didn’t know it was a secret,” Anathema shrugged and sipped her tea again.   
Adam paused for a moment, eyeing Anathema. Then he shrugged, and slumped back in his chair. 

Deirdre had book club during dinner, so it was just Arthur and Adam.   
Arthur and the Antichrist.  
“So,” Arthur tried over dinner. “You’re the Antichrist?”  
Adam pushed his greens around on his plate moodily. “You weren’t supposed to know.”  
“You thought you could keep it a secret forever?”  
Adam shrugged and didn’t answer. 

Adam had been put to bed, and Deirdre was yet to return from book club. It was only eight after all.   
Arthur sat on the couch, trying to wrap his mind around the possibility that his son, his boy, his kid was the antichrist. It didn’t make sense at all.   
There was a soft knock at the front door.   
He answered it, expecting Deirdre, but instead found the Crowley-Fell parents.   
“Hello,” Alex said carefully. “We heard that Anathema told you something?”  
Arthur stepped back to allow the two entry into his home, eyeing them warily.   
Alex sat on the chair opposite the couch, and motioned for Arthur to resume his seat. “What did she tell you?”  
“I don’t know what she said,” Arthur shook his head.   
Ant frowned. “Angel-” he started.   
Alex looked at Ant and nodded solemnly before returning his attention to Arthur.   
“I believe that proper introductions are in order.” Alex offered his hand to Arthur. “My name is Aziraphale, angel of the Eastern Gate. And this,” he motioned toward Ant. “Is Crowley, the Tempter.”   
Crowley handed Arthur a decanter of whiskey and a cup. “You may need this.”  
Arthur laughed. “You don’t seem very demonic to me,” he said to Crowley.   
Crowley made a non-committal noise. “That’s because I sort of work with larger issues. Like telephone lines and the M-25.”  
“He also works more with annoyances,” Aziraphale said. “And he also wears sunglasses.”  
Arthur nodded and poured himself three fingers of whiskey.  
“Now,” Aziraphale shifted in his seat. “Your son.”  
“The Antichrist,” Arthur said carefully.   
“The Antichrist,” confirmed Crowley.   
“Your son,” Aziraphale shot a look at Crowley. “Is indeed the Antichrist. However,” Aziraphale held up a finger. “He is still your son. He still loves you, cares for you. He chose you to be his father.”  
“How?”  
“He wanted you as his father, not anyone else.”  
“But,” Arthur looked at Crowley. “You were there, you-”  
“I’m not answering these questions tonight,” Crowley said. He sat down next to Arthur and took off his sunglasses. Arthur stared into his serpentine eyes. “You,” Crowley said. “Love your son, yes?”   
Arthur nodded.  
“Is it so hard to believe that through all your work, your love, that your son loves you back?”  
Arthur paused, but Crowley continued.   
“It doesn’t matter how powerful or dangerous your son is. It doesn’t matter how what chain of events happened to make him your son. What does matter is that you love him. And he loves you! Why would you ever need anything more than that?”  
Arthur nodded. “I suppose you're right,” he said carefully.   
“Good. Now,” Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “We’ve left Warlock long enough. They could have burned down the bookstore by now.”  
Aziraphale frowned. “I’ll just be a moment more,” he said.   
And Crowley vanished.   
But Arthur didn’t have enough time to process that because Aziraphale handed him a card with a number carefully penned into it. “This is my telephone number,” he said. “If you need anything from Crowley or I, please don’t hesitate to call any time of the night or day. I’ll pick up.”  
Arthur nodded.   
Aziraphale stood, and paused before walking out the door. “He really does love you,” he said. “And don’t tell your wife about this. We can only leave Warlock unattended for a few minutes at a time.”  
Arthur nodded again, and rose to shake Aziraphale’s hand.   
“See you friday evening, I guess.”  
Aziraphale smiled. “I suppose so, Mr Young. I suppose so.”  
Then he vanished. 

When Deirdre Young returned home from book club, she found her husband on the couch, waiting for her with a glass of red wine.   
“You know,” he said. “I think I really am starting to like the people across the street. We should have them over for dinner next weekend.”  
Deirdre looked him dead in the eye. “You have lost your mind.”  
Arthur smiled. “Maybe. But Newton did make good tea.”  
“You had tea there?”  
“And Adam seems to like them. It might not be a bad idea.”  
Deirdre thought about it. 

They invited the occupants to Jasmine Cottage over the next night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll, this chapter was really weird to write, and one of the longest ones I've ever written.   
> Okay-  
> Drink water, sleep, and do well on your tests!  
> Have fun, and comment please (if you want, I just love reading them).

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments.   
> I live off comments.


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